


Hardwired Different

by Daiako (Achrya)



Series: Alpha April [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Brothels, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Dystopia, Forced Submission, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Intersex Anakin, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Omega Verse, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Slavery, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: In a darker reality than the one who know, the Jedi use omega force users as breeders to boost their numbers and grow strong blood lines. When Qui-Gon senses something, or rather someone, in one of Nar Shaddaa’s brothels he sends his padawan to look into it. Obi-Wan walks in expecting to find nothing special but the bruised, sharp eyed omega he finds is very much that.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Alpha April [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686061
Comments: 9
Kudos: 111





	Hardwired Different

**Author's Note:**

> For Alpha April. Worry not about the state of 'Imprint', I'm about halfway through the second chapter of that as well (I multitask okay) and instead enjoy this...uh. Something. Idk what it is, but hopefully this self indulgent turn will be fun for someone. 
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was Heat House (Establishments where alphas can pay to enjoy an omega's heat) 
> 
> Ages are unmentioned, but assume the age gap is lessened some for the sake of Obi-Wan is still Qui-Gon's padawan logistics and that Anakin is whatever passes for 'old enough' in your head. We'll all be happier with each other if we don't discuss it, I think.

The Heat House isn’t anything special; in the endless sprawl of Hutta Town it was just one of no less than a dozen similar establishments Obi-Wan had drifted past since separating from his master. A few of the omegas stand outside in little more than their collars and cuffs, beconking with honeyed words and even sweeter scents to any who get close. They smiled at Obi-Wan when he slips past them and through the front door, though their eyes stay blank and the expressions make the tired smudges under their eyes that much more prominent.

It was a lower tier Heat House, as bottom of the slums as one could get while still being ‘official’ and thus under the thumb of the hutts, and it showed. The lights in the front room were low to hide sticky floors, the worn seating, the unevenness of the worn down stage, the grime that clung to just about every surface, and the haunted looks of the omegas working the floor. Recycled and perfumed air was being pumped in, mixing with the scents of unwashed, aroused alphas and betas and omegas pumped full of stims to send their own scent production into overdrive and heat starters to keep them wet and willing. That was, to Obi-Wan, the worst part about Heat Houses; maybe it would have been tolerable if it was just natural scents, even if far too many were crammed into a small space and turned up much to high, but no, there was the obviously artificial, too sweet, slightly metallic tang of forced heats all over everything. It sat heavy and sickly saccharine on the back of his tongue, made his nose and lungs burn faintly and, frankly, turned his stomach. He didn’t gag but it was a near thing. He would never understand how it wasn’t prohibitivly disgusting to anyone who wasn’t at least four mugs of organ melting homebrew in but all around him patrons were smiling, laughing, groping the workers within arms reach. 

He was going to need to put effort into purging himself of the headache he was sure to have when this was all said and done. 

There was a bouncer inside, trandoshan and bigger than they usually ran, simmering with violence and dark intent. He looked at Obi-Wan, in his dark robes parted to allow his lightsaber to show from its place on his hip, then faded back into the deep shadows of the building with a snarl. He would be going to find his bosses, let him know there was a Jedi lurking around. Heat Houses didn’t care for them for a variety of reasons but the most prominent were: Jedi visited but rarely paid, trusting power, fear, and the Republic’s truce with the Hutts would ‘cover’ their tab, and because every so often they came and took away one of the workers. 

It was not uncommon for force sensitive omegas to end up in brothels, or as slaves, or simply working and living the streets of whatever planet they ended up on if they weren’t found by the Jedi Seekers early on. Something about the Force combined with their nature made them desirable to nearly everyone they met but also...unhinged. Destructive, to themselves and the world around them, and somehow they all seemed to end up in unfortunate situations, seeking a peace they would only find in death or in being found by the Jedi. 

They made good whores. 

So good that Heat Houses were reluctant to lose them, even if they knew better than to fight about it. It caused bitterness and unease, made these places, the pimps, the people runners, and the unsavory boyfriends and husbands willing to use their mates even further down the ladder wary of their presence. But they wouldn’t get involved, if they were smart. It wasn’t worth the trouble it would bring down on them if the council took offense. Obi-Wan had seen gangs, mercs, and even nobles turn against their own to keep the favor of the Jedi and he was sure some hole in the wall brothel wasn’t important enough to anyone to be any different. 

It was their right, agreed upon by the Republic, Hutts, and even the sullen Separatist Alliance, to take any force sensitive omegas they found and do with them what they pleased. It was in the interest of all those the Jedi leant their numbers and power to not get involved in their inner workings and to keep them happy, so no one with sense raised a fuss if they took what they wanted.

In the pursuit of a unified and peaceful galaxy, of course. Jedi were PeaceKeepers, the eyes and fist of the Force, keeping all they could in Order, however they could. Hindering them from doing that would be foolish. 

Obi-Wan didn’t think the owners had any reason to worry. In spite of Qui-Gon’s certainty that he would find something ‘interesting’ down on this block Obi-Wan hadn’t felt anything in any of the Houses, aside from irritated. He was sure this would be as useless a stop as the six before and the however many after but, for all he was sure his time would be better spent up top with his master and the Brentaal noble he was guarding, he wouldn’t return without giving this task his full effort. Among the masters Qui-Gon was considered among the most fair and even keeled but Obi-Wan knew that the man wouldn’t hesitate to show disappointment or dole out a punishment when needed. 

Qui-Gon’s punishments were infamous for their creativity and effectiveness. 

Obi-Wan had never made a mistake more than once under his master’s tutelage and hadn’t had more than Qui-Gon’s occasional exasperated amusement turned on him in some time. He was a model Jedi after all, or so he heard his peers grumbling in less kind terms when they thought he couldn’t hear them, or spitting out through loosened teeth and blood from under his boot once or twice or a dozen times when they knew the end was near and there was no reason to not let out their true feelings about him, his master, and the fact he was just a touch too old and too successful to still be tethered to a master as a padawan. 

There was truth to it but as long as Qui-Gon wanted Obi-Wan at his side he would stay, in whatever role he could. 

“Hey there.” A soft voice preceded a soft touch to his arm. He glanced to the side and found a collared worker, humanoid with sunset pink pink and hundreds of delicate orange braids falling around their heart shaped face, smiling widely at him. Their pink eyes were cloudy and unfocused. “How can we help you tonight?” 

“I’m looking for someone.” 

They giggled, high and tight, before dragging their tongue over full lips and smiling to show fanged teeth. “We got lots of someones, all shapes and sizes and...parts. Wanna narrow it down for me?”

Obi-wan smirked in spite of himself. “Not that kind of someone, my dear, but I believe you can help me anyway.”

Pink eyes blinked watery then darted, nervous, over to where Obi-Wan could see the first trandoshan, now joined by two others even bigger than the first, watching them from the bar. He touched the worker’s hand, drug attention back to himself with a soft touch of the Force. He cleared their mind of worry and made them willing to listen to his words, to obey. It didn’t take much, drugs had already made them very pliable and being an omega made them that much more susceptible to an alpha’s command, and they were staring up at him adoringly, warm citrus scent softening and becoming far less noxious. 

It was nearly tolerable.

Omegas all, on some level, wanted to be useful to alphas. At least that was the case in his experience, limited as it was. He prefered betas and other alphas for that very reason; there was little fun in dealing with someone who would crane their neck and show their belly at the first hint of displeasure. 

“This someone is...they’ll be moody, and volatile, especially around their heat.” They giggled, saying without words that everyone around was moodier around their heats. He smiled kindly to cover his irritation at how pointless this was likely to be. “Their moods will stand out. Violence might not be out of the question if provoked, and the swings they go through will be very severe. Things will have a tendency to mysteriously break around them or, perhaps, they seem to know more than they should about people. They’re always in just the right place at just the right time, as if they know something is going to happen. Does that sound like anyone you know.”

“That sounds like Ani. He’s on stage soon.” They breathed and, dreamy expression shattering, jerked away in alarm. “Wh-wait. I didn’t mean- why. What did you-” 

He kept his smile fixed firmly in place and stroked their arm gently. “It’s fine. Go tell your masters I’m looking for company for the night, they don’t need to be worried. You can bring me a drink. Whiskey.” 

They nodded, brow creasing in confusion as they repeated his instructions back at him, before turning on their heel to beeline to the waiting trandoshans. Obi-wan watched, nodding with feigned politeness when the guards glared his way, before moving through the crowd to take a seat near the stage. A Twi’lek was spinning around a, frankly, unsteady looking pole to the appreciation of the crowd, stripped down to nothing but her collar and a sheer loincloth. Obi-Wan settled back in his seat, staring blankly, to wait for ‘Ani’. His drink came, less watered down and of better quality than he expected, with a murmur that it was on the house. The Twi’lek came and went, followed by what looked to be a set of human twins, tiny and delicate in the way human omegas so often were. They garnered a lot of attention as they stripped each other of their skin tight skirts and barely there shirts so by the time they left the stage the area around it had become packed with bodies and loud enough to make Obi-Wan’s ears ring. Another act came on and Obi-Wan focused his attention inward, cleansing his headache and resisting the urge to ‘suggest’ everyone get away from him.

Another dancer came and went in the time it took him to finish his drink. He was considering a second, and wondering how many acts he would have to sit through, when a prickle of something made him look up from the melting ice in his cloudy glass. The stage was dark and from a corner came a shadowed figure, tall and lean, and moving with none of the quiet grace of the ones before them.

There was no fanfare for this worker and, with annoyed groans, the crowd began to thin out. This omega, it seemed, was not popular with the regular yet, as the music came on and the lights rose to something dim and moody, Obi-Wan was oddly intrigued. 

The omega was very masculine, with none of the soft features or tempting curves that gave human omegas their androgynous look. A square jaw, broad shoulders, and hard muscle set this omega apart; even what they were wearing, small black briefs, black cuffs connected with a heavy length of chain, and a thick, ugly black collar with a silver ring dangling from the front, was very different from the others. They looked out at the crowd from behind long dark blond hair with hard blue eyes, chin tilted up as if in challenge, and that too was far from the lowered lashes and demure looks of the other workers. 

Their bottom lip was split and the left eye darkened with a purple bruise. Strange to let an omega who relied so much on their appearance go out battered; it was a turn off for most alphas to look at marks another had made and this place wasn’t the sort where that manner of treatment was baked into the price. At least it hadn’t struck him as such but, then again, who really knew? The fact of the matter was this omega was wearing bruises on full display, as if that was part of their charm. 

The music swelled, screaming strings and a crash of drums then dropped into silence. The omega dropped with it, fast and hard but perfectly controlled as they hit the ground. Hands spread as far as they could, showing off the chains before slapping palm down onto the floor. Arms flexed as the omega pushed up to their knees with a sensuous body roll, arched and stretched then rolled fluidly to their back. Hips lifted, rolled in time to the music, and bound hands slipped over an oiled chest down to thick thighs and back again. 

Obi-Wan was not above admitting he felt a frisson of something as the omega easily dropped back down and lifted their torso while long legs parted into a near split, pulling the fabric of their briefs tighter before he flipped up to a crouch, rose to his feet to stride towards the pole. One hand wrapped around the reflective surface and with an ease that was almost enviable the omega jumped, twisted so their legs were above. Another split and then one leg was hooked around the pole, supporting the omega’s weight as their hand released. They rose up with another roll of their body grabbed near the top of the pole, unwound their leg and swung around. 

Obi-Wan mentally amended his early thought about a lack of grace as he watched them work. There was something there, something angry and biting, in the way the omega moved. It wasn’t far removed from the other dancers, mouth open as if panting, eyes dark, as he moved around the pole, climbing up to fall back with splits and spins, arms bulging as he rocked against it, and entire stage shaking just a little when he landed hard before, but it was...harsher. Sharper.

More like fighting, in spite of the motions he was going through. He climbed the pole, moved around it not like a lover but like an enemy, eyes sharp and grip tight, nails dragging over the smooth surface, thighs in stranglehold around it. 

He pushed and it swayed just a little, yielding to him.

He levered himself back on the ground, falling into a crouch and spreading his thighs, slow, teasing, before snapping them closer. He rose up, rocking in time with the music, hips swaying and sweat slipping down bare skin as long fingered hands moved over their body and, up to swipe over parted lips teasingly. A flash of tongue and another darkly challenging look and the omega was facing away, bending towards the pole. Their shorts rode up, showing up strips of skin and hugging that much tighter. The crack of their hand against their ass vibrated the air with the soft clink of chains; something twisted in Obi-Wan’s chest. 

There was a distinct bulge in the front when they were facing the crowd again, a not ungenerous size; something else many found unappealing in a human omega. Obi-Wan decided, sitting further back in his seat, that he didn’t mind that much at all.

Blue eyes caught his own, for just a second, and he was treated to a lazy smirk and a curious brush against his mind. He was surprised for a second then, giving the matter less than a beat of thought, lowered his defenses just a little. Nothing important would get out but it was enough to allow a whisper inside, to prod clumsily at his interest and arousal before withdrawing. The omega smirked, lazy and knowing, at him. His tongue traced his top lip and lips pursed again, what might have seemed playful or inviting to some but settling on Obi-Wan’s skin as a taunt, before he was gone, crawling away to no doubt look into someone else. He looked, Obi-Wan decided, far more predator than prey even though he was exposed, writhing against the floor. 

He picked up the pad sitting next to his chair and quickly navigated to the list of available omegas. The one presently on stage was at the top of the list. Age, just old enough to not be reportable, male identifying, human, name: Anakin. Obi-Wan tapped the tip button, transfering over an obscene amount of credits then put in a request for a private room for the evening. It cleared quickly, his willingness to pay for their best suite for the entire night going far.

He rose smoothly, pad set aside, to stand by the bar and wait for the company he was sure would come his way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Next Chapter: Knot. Obi-Wan and Anakin have a talk. ...well. Some words are absolutely exchanged!


End file.
